


when a softened heart abides

by wekeepeachotherhuman



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Catholic Guilt, Co-Dependency, Dissociation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Toxic Relationship, a real lack of feelings here folks, pretty fucked up relationships to sex within :/
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 20:17:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17874158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wekeepeachotherhuman/pseuds/wekeepeachotherhuman
Summary: Charlie’s mother isn’t dying of cancer.She isn’t dying and Dennis knows that he should feel relieved, but he still just feels nothing at all.





	when a softened heart abides

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to _Charlie’s Mom Has Cancer_.
> 
> Inspired in part by a friend doing her first watch of Sunny and texting me: _i...... think i feel bad for dennis?????_ at the end of the episode.

“Den?” Mac whispers through the darkness of Dennis’ bedroom. Dennis feels Mac’s weight on top of him start to lift. He doesn’t feel as cold as he’d expected to. Frankly, he doesn’t feel much of anything. How long has he been here? How long has Mac been on top of him?

“Hmm?”

Mac tenses, he pulls even further away. His elbows are straight, shaking slightly as he holds himself propped up. He looks down at Dennis; his big eyes are wide and uncertain. His lips are still wet and red. “I asked if you were okay.”

“If I was okay?” Dennis says, repeating Mac’s words back to him to just buy himself a little more time to formulate some words that will be convincing. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Mac sighs, then he rolls off of Dennis and collapses into the bed next to him. Dennis rolls his eyes and turns his head to look at Mac. “What?” Dennis demands. 

“You just, like,” Mac starts, then he looks down at his hands, picking at his nails. “You weren’t into it at all, dude,” he finishes quietly. 

Dennis inadvertently rolls his eyes again. “Who’s fault is that, Mac?” He asks. Mac seems to actually consider that, so Dennis sighs, and adds: “I’m just tired.”

“Yeah?” Mac says, gracious and hopeful. He finally turns his head to look back at Dennis and he’s smiling. Dennis wishes it would make him feel something. 

“Yes,” he says back. 

“Oh,” Mac says, rolling himself back towards Dennis, slotting their bodies back together. He sighs contentedly, then presses his lips back to Dennis’. And Dennis wants this. He wants things to feel normal. He wants things to feel simple. He wants things to feel like  anything at all . But all he gets is nothing. Mac touches him. Mac kisses him. And it’s nothing. 

Dennis cranes his neck far enough away to mutter: “Mac, wait,” and Mac immediately pulls away. He looks down at Dennis. That same concern and uncertainty is back. 

“I knew it,” he says, jabbing his finger against Dennis’ chest. “Something’s up.”

“I just feel…” How does he put this in terms that Mac will understand? How do you explain a black hole to a toddler? “Weird,” he settles on. 

Mac furrows his brow. He sits himself up against the headboard, keeping one hand in the crook of Dennis’ elbow. “Weird?” He says. “Weird how?” Dennis shrugs helplessly. “Did you eat today?”

“Yes,” Dennis says through gritted teeth. And maybe that’s good? Maybe a little anger is a good thing. “I ate today, Mac.”

“Maybe you need a beer,” Mac says, and he’s already lifting himself out of the bed. “I’m gonna get you a beer,” he confirms before Dennis can say yes or no. 

He knows he should say no. It’s late. If he has a beer now, that’ll lead to two or three, and they’ll both be up all night. But alcohol’s always pretty consistently made him feel warm from the inside out. So, maybe that could be a good thing too? If he just had some damn discipline and kept it to one, it might even help him sleep. And  _ sleep _ is good. Dennis knows that for a fact. Sleep is always good when minutes bleed into hours, into days, into weeks, into whatever it is that time is constructed from. 

Then, Mac is back, settling down cross-legged on the bed. He hands Dennis an already-opened bottle of beer and drinks from one of his own. He watches as Dennis takes his first sip. 

“How’s that?” Mac asks. “Better?”

“I don’t know,” Dennis mumbles. 

Mac pulls a face. Confused, disappointed, completely out of his depth. “Huh,” he says quietly. “Weird.” Then, Mac reaches out and touches the back of his hand to Dennis’ cheeks. They’re still flushed, but they aren’t too warm. “Well, you’re not sick either,” he concludes. 

“I would know if I was sick, Mac,” Dennis says. “And if you didn’t know that, for sure, you probably shouldn’t have been feeding me beers.”

“You don’t always know,” Mac immediately pokes back. “That’s how people, die, Dennis.”

“This is the stupidest conversation I’ve ever been a part of.”

“As if, dude,” Mac mutters around another mouthful of beer. 

Dennis sighs. He feels himself going a mile a minute, but remaining stagnant at the same time. It’s exhausting. He’s thinking too much. He can feels all his thoughts manifesting around him, like some gray stormcloud, swallowing him whole, buzzing and buzzing, drowning out everything that had once felt so vital and important. 

“Hey,” Mac says gently. He reaches his hand out and touches it to Dennis’ chest, hovering over where his heart would be. Dennis looks down at his hand and then back at Mac, perplexed, but feeling a twinge of movement at just how gentle and sincere Mac is being. Mac smiles, keeps his eyes on his own hand, and just holds there. Waiting. HIs smile grows, when he finally gets what he’d been waiting for. “You’re still in there, man,” he says, and Dennis realizes he was feeling for a heartbeat. 

Mac doesn’t spend the night. He never does. 

 

—

 

“Thanks for last night,” Dennis says as Mac pours coffee into each of their travel mugs the following morning. 

Mac twists at the middle, looking over his shoulder at Dennis, who’s still sitting at the table. He knits his eyebrows together. “Last night?” He asks. 

Dennis sets his jaw. He glances out the window in their living room. The sun is up. Things are always different when the sun is up. Mac’s got himself so disciplined to that fact. He so rarely slips up, and when he does, Dennis always lets him get away with it. When Dennis turns back to him, he looks just as confused and inconspicuous as he always does. 

“Right,” Dennis mutters. He stands, heads for the door, grabbing a jacket as he goes. “Never mind.” 

Mac follows him out the door and down into the Rover. He hands Dennis his travel mug. Their hands brush over one another, but Dennis doesn’t feel anything. 

There are overflowing bags of laundry in the backseat of his car. 

“What’s all this?” He asks. 

“Oh,” Mac says, smiling like he’s about to explain the best scheme he’s ever been a part of. “Mrs. Kelly is gonna do our laundry for us,” he says, then pumps his fist in victory. 

“That’s our laundry?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dennis rolls his eyes, puts the car in reverse and starts to pull out of his spot. “You should have grabbed my sheets,” he mutters. 

Mac pulls a face, then looks out the window. “Gross,” he mumbles to the glass. 

 

—

 

At the bar, Charlie tells them that his mother is dying of cancer. Dennis doesn’t feel anything. He thinks of his own mother. But, still, he doesn’t feel anything. 

 

—

 

Dennis tries everything. He follows Mac everywhere and tries everything. 

Mac takes them to church. If Dennis believed in God, or saints, or angels, he’d be surprised that they even let him through the door. But he doesn’t, so he doesn’t think about it and settles into a pew next to Charlie. He glances past him, at Mac and thinks:  _ I wouldn’t be the first person to find answers here _ . 

He plays the part as best he can. He sings what hymns he can remember. He kneels and stands and sits when he’s supposed to. He offers Charlie a sign of peace; he even tells the guy he’s sorry about his mother. And maybe somewhere deep-down he means it, but he doesn’t feel goodness in his heart the way he knows he’s supposed to. 

He itches for it. That goodness. He itches for anything. 

He holes himself away in his bedroom as soon as they get home. Buried under the blankets, he thinks, if he doesn’t find something that will jar his chest loose soon, he just might die. He wants to get up. He wants to pace. But he doesn’t trust himself enough to not pace right out of his room and go to Mac. 

Because Mac… 

Well, because Mac makes him feel like he exists. 

He holds his breath. Listens to the quiet apartment around him. Mac is home. He’s also isolated himself in his own bedroom. Dennis swears he can hear him murmuring to someone quietly. 

His voice, distant and soft, just makes Dennis want to pace more. He wants to hear Mac’s voice. Wants to be close enough that he can feel Mac’s breath on his skin while he speaks. He wants Mac here. Closed away in the safety and secrecy of Dennis’ bedroom. 

“Goddamnit,” Dennis mutters, he  _ wants it _ so bad. He wants to feel that way again; that way Mac always makes him feel when he’s on top of him. 

He stands. Barefoot, and already in his pyjamas, he decides it’s worth a try. 

He pads across his bedroom, throws open his bedroom door and beelines through the living room. 

Mac’s door is open. Light pours out into the dark kitchen. 

_ It’s worth a try, it’s worth a try, it’s worth a try _ … So Dennis doesn’t stop. He doesn’t let himself chicken out. 

He pauses in the doorway to Mac’s room. He takes in the crucifix on the opposite wall. He takes in the painting of the Virgin Mary hanging over his bed. Then, he takes in Mac. Standing, his mouth still hanging slightly open from reading the book in his hands aloud. It’s his old, ratted copy of the New Jerusalem Bible. 

“Dennis?” Mac gapes. 

And that’s as much of an invitation as Dennis needs. He strides across the room, closing the distance between them quicker than Mac can process what’s happening. Dennis sees Mac’s eyes widen as he stalks forward. 

He swats the bible out of Mac’s hands, who gasps gently, but doesn’t have the chance to say a word because Dennis’ lips crash into his. Dennis can feel him try to pull away, so he puts his hands on either side of Mac’s face and holds him there. Kisses him like Mac is the only source of oxygen in the room. 

Mac staggers backward, Dennis follows him. He presses Mac up against the wall. The hanging crucifix is only a few inches above their heads. Dennis feels Mac’s hands on his waist. They’re pushing him away, not pulling him closer. So Dennis presses more of his weight against him, keeping him pinned there. Nipping at Mac’s bottom lip the way he knows Mac likes it. 

“Dennis,” Mac breathes out against his lips. His hands dig deeper into Dennis’ waist. Dennis grinds his hips against Mac’s, and that only makes Mac grip him tighter. 

“Come to my room,” Dennis says, lacing kisses along Mac’s jawline. 

“No,” is Mac’s immediate response. “I can’t,” he adds to soften the blow. 

“Why not?”

“Because,” Mac says. He sighs as Dennis presses his thigh between Mac’s legs. “We have to stop doing this.”

Dennis laughs, then kisses Mac’s throat hard enough that it’ll leave a mark. “Bullshit,” he says into Mac’s skin. He feels Mac shiver beneath him, then feels his whole body tense. 

“No,” he says, and his voice suddenly sounds strong. Certain. 

Dennis thinks his heart should be hammering in his chest, but it isn’t. 

“Mac,” he starts, his voice like silk. He pulls away; he looks up at Mac and immediately knows it was a mistake. His eyes are dark and angry. He looks more confident and sure than Dennis thinks he’s ever seen him. It takes him by surprise just long enough that he doesn’t register that Mac’s pushed him far enough away that there’s almost a foot of space between them. 

Dennis clings to Mac’s hand, still pressed against his waist. 

“Listen, dude: I feel closer to God today than I have in years,” Mac says. Dennis wants to roll his eyes, wants to make fun of him, but instead, he just feels afraid. He must dig his nails into the back of Mac’s hand, because Mac looks down at Dennis’ waist and hisses in pain. “You can’t make me ignore that. Not again, man. We have to stop because God wants me back on His path.”

Dennis shakes his head. “What about what I want?”

“I know you don’t  _ get  _ it, but this isn’t God’s plan for me,” Mac argues. 

Dennis ignores him: “I want you to come to my room,” he says, his voice the utter opposite of steady. “I want you to touch me.”

Mac shakes his head solemnly. “I’m not gonna do that, Dennis,” he says apologetically. 

Something shifts inside of him. A lever gets pulled, and he feels hot and desperate. His hands aren’t shaking, but they feel unfamiliar. Like he isn’t actually here. So he clings to Mac wherever he can. 

He takes one of Mac’s hand, sets it against his chest, over where his heart should be. He keeps his own on top of Mac’s, holding it there. He keeps his eyes focused on Mac, but Mac won’t do the same. 

“Mac,  _ just _ …” Dennis finally looks away. He shakes his head. He feels his cheeks go red and hot with embarrassment. He feels something rising up in his throat and doesn’t care to stop it. He presses his hand harder against Mac’s, wishing he could feel a heartbeat underneath it. 

“Dennis—”

“Just tell me I’m still here!”

Mac just blinks back at him. He swallows hard. Then, he shakes his head minutely. Hopeless and hapless, stuck between the two hardest places he knows. “Dennis,” he says again, painfully soft, and it’s all Dennis needs. 

He shoves Mac backward with everything he’s got. Mac’s back hits the wall and the crucifix falls off its hook. The room is still and quiet. It gives Dennis a moment to collect himself. Feeling nothing has always been preferable. “Or don’t,” Dennis mutters as he turns on his heel and heads for his bedroom. As he reaches Mac’s door, he throws: “God doesn’t care about you either way,” over his shoulder. 

Dennis slams the door to his bedroom shut behind him and he swears he can hear its reverberations for hours. 

He sits up in bed until the sun comes up around him. But nothing feels different. 

 

—

 

Charlie’s mother isn’t dying of cancer. 

She isn’t dying and Dennis knows that he should feel relieved, but he still just feels nothing at all. 

So, when Dee and Frank barge into the bar with some story about Barbara faking her death and having buried a fortune in her casket, Dennis just thinks:  _ this might as well happen _ . 

He goes to a cemetery that he’s never been to before and watches as Dee and Charlie dig a hole six feet into the ground. 

“You think she’s really still alive?” Mac asks him somewhere around the third foot. 

“I don’t care,” Dennis says back, trying to imagine what it would be like if he walked into a room and saw his mother, living and breathing. 

Something breaks inside of him when Charlie opens up the casket to reveal his mother’s decomposing body. A levee, holding everything in, snaps in half and he feels like he could drown at the force of it. He clings to Dee and she doesn’t cling back. 

It’s  _ so _ much. It’s  _ too _ much. 

It’s zero to a hundred so fast it gives him whiplash. It makes him sick to his stomach, and he thinks he must black out because the next thing he remembers is Mac guiding him up the stairs to their apartment. One hand around his wrist, the other on the small of his back, bearing practically all of his weight as he pushes him on and on. 

Mac sits him down on the couch, mumbling something about grabbing a glass of water; Dennis can’t hear him over the clattering of his teeth. He hugs his arms across his chest, digging his nails into his arms. He can’t always choose  _ how much _ he feels, but he wants to choose  _ what _ he feels. And physical pain has always been easier to handle than the darker, emotional kind. He keeps his eyes down on the floorboards between his feet, listening to Mac rummaging through the kitchen for a clean glass. He feels himself start to rock slightly back and forth. He’s buzzing; he’s vibrating out of skin and nothing he does seems to stop it. 

Then, Mac sits down next to him. Dennis feels the couch dip under his weight. He can feel the warmth of Mac’s body as he leans towards Dennis, unsure of where to touch. He peels one of Dennis’ hands away from his own arms and pushes the glass of water into it. 

“Drink it, Den,” he tells him. “It’ll make you feel better.”

Dennis glances down at the glass in his hands. He swallows hard, ignoring the urge to shatter it to pieces right then and there. He squeezes it tight, until his knuckles go white. 

Dennis sips at the water. It doesn’t make a difference. He knew it wouldn’t. 

Mac’s watching him closely. Looking very suddenly becomes  _ not enough _ because one of Mac’s hands finds his knee and squeezes it reassuringly. And Dennis feels as though something’s been chipped away. It’s a small fragment; practically immeasurable in comparison to the torrential emotions coursing through his whole body. But it’s  _ something _ . It’s something bad that Mac was able to take away. 

Dennis looks down at Mac’s hand, feels himself exhale, then looks back up at Mac. His eyes wide, hungry for Mac’s hands to chip away at all the horrible things in his head. 

Mac smiles. “There,” he says. 

“There what?”

Mac’s hand runs up Dennis’ leg, then he sets it on Dennis’ shoulder. “You’re back, buddy.”

Dennis immediately looks away. He swallows hard. He starts to nod. He takes another, longer sip of water. And maybe Mac was right about that: it does make him feel better. It makes him feel more even. More in control. “Thanks,” he manages, his eyes still downcast. 

“Of course, man,” Mac says. He puts his hand on Dennis’ back and massages loose circles against his tight muscles. 

Dennis suddenly wishes he was better with words. He wants to kiss Mac and he doesn’t think he could ever come up with anything to say that would mean the same thing. 

“Do you, uh,” Mac stutters. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Dennis answers quickly. He thinks, if he says anything else, he might fall apart, and he just wants Mac to hold him together. 

“Okay,” Mac says, then he starts to play with his hands awkwardly. He looks around the living room, so Dennis takes that as his chance to really look at him. He watches Mac’s eyes dart down to the floor and he starts to chew on his bottom lip. His eyes dart up to Dennis’, only for a moment, before they’re back on the floorboards. He’s itching to say something, or do something, and Dennis just wishes he would. 

“Mac?” Dennis ventures. Mac doesn’t say anything back. He doesn’t even look up. “What is it?” Dennis tries again. 

“Nothing,” Mac says around something in his throat. 

Dennis shuffles closer to him on the couch. Their knees knock into one another’s. “It isn’t nothing,” he says. Mac’s eyes shoot up from the floor to where they’ve suddenly started to touch. And maybe that isn’t exactly what Dennis wanted, but it’s something. So, he reaches his hand out and sets it down on Mac’s thigh. And just like he’d thought they would, Mac’s eyes follow his hand as he traces it upward, slowly. 

Mac inhales sharply, then he puts his hand on Dennis’ and pushes it down to his knee. 

Dennis swallows hard, decides to repeat himself: “It isn’t nothing.”

And that finally forces Mac to look up at him. When their eyes meet, it’s electric. Dennis feels a jolt through his whole body, warming him from the inside out. He feels everything slot back into place, power up, and just  _ run _ . 

He knows Mac feels it too. Watches as Mac’s chest starts to rise and fall a little heavier. Mac licks his lips, and his eyes dart down towards Dennis’, quickly, before they flicker back upward and it’s as much of a warning as Dennis needs. 

He leans backward just as Mac starts to lean forward. Their lips meet somewhere in the middle, then the back of Dennis’ head settles onto the couch’s armrest and Mac’s body is on top of him. He wraps his hands around Mac’s waist and tugs him closer. He nips at Mac’s bottom lip, listens as Mac groans and gets himself comfortable on top of him. 

Mac pulls away, he keeps his eyes down and focused while he starts to unbuckle Dennis’ belt. 

Dennis watches him, but his hands itch to keep moving. He wants to touch Mac everywhere. Wants Mac to do the same for him. Dennis runs his hand through Mac’s hair, then his hand settles open-palmed on Mac’s cheek. He realizes he wants to say  _ thank you _ so he decides to say nothing at all. 

Mac catches his eye; he smiles down at him gently before he kisses him again. 

Dennis thinks it’s the softest either of them have ever been. He runs his hands up the back of Mac’s shirt and just clings to him, their mouths working against one another’s like they’ve known each other their whole lifetime, and all other lifetimes too. 

Dennis tries to pull Mac’s shirt off, but Mac won’t lift his arms up over his head to help him out. He won’t pull away long enough to do it. And maybe that’s fine, Dennis thinks. Maybe just touching Mac’s skin is enough. 

One of Mac’s hands deftly opens the front of Dennis’ jeans. Dennis rocks his hips forward, giving Mac a better angle. He lets the waistband of his jeans fall down a little lower on his hips. He wraps his arms around Mac’s neck and pulls him closer. 

He keeps grinding his hips forward, hoping that they’ll find Mac’s. 

“Come on, man,” Dennis grumbles, lamenting the lack of friction between them. Then, Mac’s fingers toy with the elastic waistband on his underwear, finding their way beneath it, hovering over the sensitive skin over his hips. Dennis kisses Mac again, moans through it, and Mac practically buckles overtop him. 

It makes Dennis smile. It always does. The way he can just touch Mac the right way. Make the right sound. And then he’s got him. Mac’s hand finds his dick beneath his underwear. Dennis inhales sharply and wraps one leg around Mac’s calf. 

“Oh, shit,” he babbles. “That’s it, come on, baby.” Then, it’s Mac’s turn to inhale, his chest suddenly tight. That pet name always seems to have that effect. 

Mac lays his forehead against Dennis’ and begins to stroke him. Dennis just clings around him, his nails digging into Mac’s shoulder blades. And Mac doesn’t stop. Even after Dennis thinks he should. They breathe in one another’s air, feeling each other’s bodies from top-to-toe, and Mac  _ won’t stop _ . 

“Wait, Mac,” Dennis breathes into his ear. “I’m gonna…”

“It’s okay,” Mac says back, and Dennis thinks he must be speaking more significantly than he realizes, because Dennis feels a wave of contentedness wash over him and stay there. So, he just lets Mac finish. 

Dennis wants to tell him he thinks it’s the best orgasm he’s ever had, so he keeps his mouth wired shut. 

Still reeling, it takes a moment for Dennis to realize that Mac is pulling away. He sitting back on his haunches between Dennis’ legs while he re-sets his shirt straight on his shoulders. 

“Wait, wait,” Dennis says breathlessly. “What are you doing?” He reaches out for Mac, who’s just far enough that he can’t reach him without sitting up. “Don’t you want—”

“I’m good,” Mac says, then he clambers over Dennis’ leg and his feet find the floor. 

Dennis’ heart won’t stop hammering in his chest. He props up on his elbows, his eyes narrowed and already angry and defensive. “You’re good?” He shrugs helplessly. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mac sighs. He looks towards his bedroom, a clear desire to escape this conversation, then he glances back down at Dennis on the couch. “It means I’m good, Dennis,” he says quietly. “Everything I say doesn’t always have to mean something.”

“Yes, it does,” Dennis says quickly, his voice higher and more strained than he’d wished it would sound. 

Mac shakes his head, exasperated. He hitches his hands on his hips. He shrugs. He doesn’t know what to say. They’ll just have to agree to disagree, but that sentiment has never sat right with Dennis. 

“What even was this, Mac?” Dennis asks through a weak laugh. 

Mac tenses, so Dennis sits up straighter. He feels something go cold in his stomach. It sits heavy. He leans forward, tries to catch Mac’s eyes, but he’s keeping them expertly guarded. He sets his jaw; waits for Mac to say something.  _ Say anything _ that will debunk the theory running rampant in Dennis’ head. This was pity. This was Mac’s pathetic answer to Dennis’ pathetic advances. But Mac stays quiet. 

Dennis feels something clawing up his throat and knows that he has to leave before it finds its way out. He resets the fly and button on his jeans, then throws his legs over the side of the couch. He swipes at his discarded belt and stands when his hand finds it. 

“Dennis,” Mac finally tries and it makes Dennis see red. 

He turns on his heel to face him. They’re closer than Dennis imagined they would be. He jabs his finger into Mac’s chest. “Don’t,” he seethes. Mac immediately shuts his mouth. “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” he says. “You’ve got enough of your own shit to feel sorry for.” He turns and strides towards his bedroom, his whole body pulsing with anger. He hears Mac call after him, but he doesn’t stop, until he reaches the doorframe to his bedroom. He stops and turns, his nails digging into the wood door jamb. “And another thing!” He shouts across the living room. Mac rolls his eyes, immediately knowing that whatever comes next is just patented Dennis Reynolds anger, and will have absolutely nothing to do with the situation at hand. “I just decided: we’re not getting that fucking karaoke machine!”

Dennis sees Mac’s shoulders droop, but he throws his door shut before Mac can say anything back. 

Dennis goes to sleep angry, but it’s  _ something _ . It sure as hell isn’t nothing. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been in and out of watching Sunny since 2012, why has it suddenly gotten such a stranglehold on me? Will I ride out this wave and write a companion piece for every episode? Who knows.
> 
> Also, anybody know how to deal with those giant spaces that show up when I try to use italics in rich text?


End file.
